Within You, Without You: A Girl, Interrupted Story
by WhoresofBabylon
Summary: LisaSusanna slash. Love on a psych ward: oh, the angst. Rated PG-13 for language and sex. Ch. 10 up - seriously, is anyone at all reading this anymore?
1. Chapter 1: Lisa

_Within You, Without You_

"the underlying sexodrama of the movie Girl, Interrupted"

Hi, welcome to our second collaborative fic – the first one that numerous people will read, hopefully.  That brings us to point one: if you read the fic and have any reaction at all beyond the boredom of complete mediocrity, please review.  We have no money for enhanced statistics, so if people don't review, we will never know if anyone is reading at all, especially since Girl Interrupted doesn't have its own category here.  So then we will get depressed and we will throw ourselves off bridges and you won't get any more fics from us.  This means that if you like the fic it is especially important that you review.  Call it an investment in your fanfictional future.

Other points in no particular order: this is a fic based around the movie Girl, Interrupted, if the subtitle didn't give that away.  Specifically, it explores the horribly transparent but still implicit relationship between Lisa and Susanna.  In other words, this is a lesbian story.  A lesbian story about gay muff-divers who are women and have sex together which constitutes f/f slash.  I am warning this in more words than necessary because I have seen people get flamed for writing slashfic despite very clear warnings in the author's notes.  So this is clearer than clear:

********************************WARNING LESBIANISM AHEAD*******************************

Also, this is an homage, not plagiarism - if Michael Cunningham could do it with _The Hours_ and Will Self could do it with _Dorian, _then so can we do it and no one can sue us.  Especially because we have no money. And some quick editorial notes: italics indicate either flashbacks or diary entries (excepting the initial Beatles quotation), and aside from these italicized sections, the point of view shifts from chapter to chapter between Susanna and Lisa.  

Regarding the basis of the story itself: it started as an exploration of the lesbian subtext in the movie, and then after awhile went really AU.  However, some of our material was drawn from sources outside of the standard VHS version: certain themes were taken from the cut scenes featured on the DVD (which you really need to see if you're at all interested in this movie), and still others are taken from the shooting script (out of print but available on www.abebooks.com), which has still more scenes that were excised from the movie as well as interviews with the director and screenwriters.  All in all we did way more research than is normal or probably healthy for a fanfic, which is why you should read it and review it, so our work won't be in vain.  Also you don't want our death by bridge-jumping to be on your hands.

Yes.  After that exceedingly verbose introduction… go to.

-The Writers

* * *

_We were talking   
about the space between us all   
and people who hide themselves   
behind a wall of illusion   
never glimpse the truth   
then it's far too late   
when they pass away…_

_Try to realize it's all within yourself   
no one else can make you change   
And to see you're really only very small   
and life flows on within you and without you…_

_When you've seen beyond yourself   
then you may find   
peace of mind is waiting there   
And the time will come   
when you see we're all one   
and life flows on within you and without you_

_-The Beatles, 1967_**__**

* * *

You know, people think it's got to be fucking hell living in a mental ward. They don't say it around me - nobody says much of anything around me. Keep Lisa quiet, that's the goal around here: the aides are scared of me, the nurses try to manage me, the doctors hate me, and the patients… well.

  
But that's for later. What I mean is that you all, you all who are reading this, you're all sitting there pitying me for what a fucking hard life I must have, right? Six years in the loony bin, how can she stand it? There are about six types of you and you can figure out for yourself which type you belong in. There's the saints, the ones who are so terribly concerned about what horrible things must have happened to me to make me this way. Those are the ones who fall all over themselves with concern and send fruit baskets at Christmas. There's the flakes, the ones who can't think any deeper than clothes and TV, the kind the whole locked-ward shebang scares the holy shit out of. They're the ones who run in the other direction when they see someone walking down the street talking to the air.

Then there are the ones who do the denying: there's no such thing as "mental illness"; you're no crazier than the rest of us, so cut the bullshit, quit the pills and whining and get a job.  And finally, there are the ones who "understand." They're the ones who talk in the low sympathetic tones, who ask solemnly about childhood trauma and gently but firmly click the lock shut on the padded room. They're the ones who run this place, and they're the ones who understand the least about anything.

The truth is that the ones who think we're no crazier than anyone else are more right on than anyone else. But they're missing the point. The point isn't that we're crazy; the point is that they _are_. We're in here because we let it all hang loose, as they say, but who the fuck are you to judge what crazy is? You're so fucking attached to your dim little vision of reality you can't wake up and smell the fucking roses. You think there's a "right" answer to life, to sanity, and there's not. 

  
Unless you ride the top of it. See, that's the only problem with most of the chicks in here: they get so bogged _down_ in it all. And before you tell me that's why you're different, you tell me the last time you cried, and what about. You lost your job? Your husband cheated on you? Your mother died? And because that was why you broke down and lost it, that makes you okay, right? Get real. You're as fucked up as anyone else. And until you can slide right by that stuff without noticing, you're not alive. You're not free.

And when you're free they still want to lock you up. But then it's out of fear, plain and simple.  
  
Getting bogged down - that was my mistake today. Hearing about Jamie that way - it was a shock, that's all. A nasty old shock. But I'm back now. Back in control now.  
  
And the girl who took her place is pretty hot.


	2. Chapter 2: Susanna

I still remember the first time I saw her.  That really isn't what I remember most, though.  You can't tell much from looking at someone in the street from a two-story window.  I never actually met Lisa... not officially.  There was life before her - right up to sitting down on my bed with my new roommate; two minutes later she was screaming in my face about someone I'd never heard of... and then there she was, in my life.  No meeting; just invasion.

I met her through that look in Georgina's eyes as her gaze followed mine past the window to the street.  I met her through that subtle exchange between her and Daisy, the moment she walked through the door.  I may have been the only one who saw her eyes well up when she started screaming about Jamie... but that didn't make it any less real.  She had a history with them all, and it wasn't communal, it was personal.  And if there was someone she didn't have a history with, she made sure to create one.

I guess that's where I came in.

_It's__ better this way - I'm always in control, _she informed me one night as we rummaged around the darkness for our clothes.  _I don't let anyone fall in love with me._

I smiled, but in the dark, who could tell?  I might have even imagined it.  _No one can control their own heart, _I argued sappily, tossing a sock at her, _let alone someone else's._

She lassoed me with a sweater and pulled me against her - a common habit that usually set me off into giggles, but this time silenced me faster than the sound of hallway footsteps in the middle of an orgasm.

_No one?_ she echoed.  I kept quiet.  _Watch me._

She didn't talk to me for two days after that.  That's how it always went.  I never knew why - but it was Lisa, which is enough of an explanation for why I didn't fight it.  She'd spend two days flirting with Cynthia and then one evening walk up to me at dinner and slip me an inch of scrap paper that read, "tongue your meds at 10 and I'll tongue something else at midnight."  That's how I knew she was over it.

I just never knew what it was she was over.

I suppose that was the problem with us.  From the first time I watched her arrive at the ward - maniacal, show-stopping, inhumanly entrancing – to that same night, when I really saw her for the first time, sitting on the floor in the room at the end of the hall; helpless, practically catatonic, finally having surrendered to the examination and probing of the staff.  From the first time I had the guts to follow her to bed, shut the door, kiss her, and run back to my own room... to the first night we watched each other from across the TV room, simultaneously slipping our pills into our pockets.  Always, from the beginning – from every beginning – I knew she thought I was the one who would understand.  That I was the one she'd be able to trust.  And all along, deep down, I knew I would never be that brave, or that crazy.

...But I'm getting ahead of myself.


	3. Chapter 3: Lisa

So I've taken a shine to the new girl. Much to everyone's displeasure. The nurses are afraid I'm going to corrupt the poor sweet innocent darling before they've had a chance to mold her into the Wellesley Girl version of Good Mental Health, and the patients, of course, are all afraid I'm going to ditch them for her. I've seen the way they all look at me. Jesus fucking Christ, Jamie offed herself a week ago and already they're all trying to take her fucking place - trying to be my faaaavorite, like Polly might say it. It's pathetic. And it's sick how much I like it.  
  


But this Susanna - I think the rest of the girls are in for a disappointment, because I like this chick. There's something about her. She comes off all sad and sweet and scared, with those big doe eyes, the way they blank right out of focus when one of those flashbacks comes on. But she doesn't blank out except when she's got the time and luxury for it. Pinned up against that wall, she was right there with me, and in another second she'd have been scratching me like a cat - anything to get away. That was in her eyes too. She's a hard little nut when you get right down to it. She wouldn't crack like Jamie, see, she'd never put her whole soul in someone else's hands. She's got a little core of selfish bitchiness to fall back on when someone screws her over.   
  
****

I already know I'm going to fuck her. She's a hot little piece. She's got the short hair going and all, but I know she's not a dyke - it's always so easy to tell - or at least she wasn't before me. She's probably got some sissy little boyfriend at home kicking back in his college V-neck and khakis, swigging a fucking Michelob. Or maybe, what with the French cigarettes and all, he's sipping a carefully chilled white wine and writing poetry. That seems more her line.   
  
Operation New Girl: Get the boyfriend forgotten by the end of the week.


	4. Chapter 4: Susanna

She was fucking crazy.

She was fucking crazy and every last one of them worshiped the ground she walked on.  Well, maybe not every last one.  I didn't.  Daisy didn't, but she was psycho enough for all of us; she didn't really count.  I don't know, Lisa was like some... ward phantom, or relic, or... something.  She had this supernatural sixth-sense sexuality that surpassed the fact that she was a woman (I'm being generous with that term, naturally), knowingly seducing every other woman she ran across.  Maybe just in the emotional sense, but that hardly made it any less intense.  They all looked at her the same way.  Fear, certainly – but more than that; it was a craving.  I even saw it in some of the nurses – and as if that thought wasn't scary enough, she was always watching me.

Or maybe I was watching her.  There wasn't much else to do in this godforsaken hellhole.

There were the rumors, of course.  I don't remember actually hearing anyone say it, but it was obvious Jamie had been more than anyone was letting on.

I saw it, sometimes.  Rarely – she could never sit still – but sometimes.  She'd be staring off into space, until you realized she was actually staring past the hallway into my room.  Jamie's room.  It'd be empty, but somehow you'd know, to her, it was like staring into some past life.  Melodramatic, maybe – but to her, it really _must_ have been like another life; she had to keep it just that distanced.  She couldn't risk letting anything show.

On the other hand, I had no idea what I was talking about.

Maybe I was only whipping up these ludicrous emotional histories to make her easier to tolerate.  For Christ's sake, she read over my shoulder.  She had her own set of keys.  She provoked the weak ones, flirted madly with the rest, and manipulated everyone from the catatonics to the top nurses.  Everything and everyone was a gamepiece to her – could be moved, readjusted, taken off the board altogether – all with whatever dice happened to be rolling around inside her head.

Except with me.  Something was always different.  I kept waiting for my turn.  She hadn't truly snapped, insulted, injured.  She hadn't performed.  She watched me, and she cornered me, and she gave me these looks that I couldn't read; I didn't know if she wanted to fuck me or just steal a pack of cigarettes.

I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

But, as I would soon learn... I wouldn't have a choice.

_Susanna - phone call, booth one.___

You'd think they'd be better at phone monitoring, but by this time I'd stopped being surprised by the staff's inadequacies.

_Hello?_

Muffled, an accent... Italian?  German?  _So where were you last night?_

Jesus Christ, somebody noticed.  Already, on the first try, somebody had noticed.  _Who is this?_

A small, victorious cackle.  _You know, sweetpea, you're the first one who couldn't even recognize my voice the next morning._

My eyes fell shut in relief.  _Lisa –_

_You're forgiven._

_What are you doing?  I – we – someone might hear us here!_

_As opposed to that soundproof suite we had at the Plaza last night._

_We shouldn't be –_

_Y'know, babe, you say it was your first time with a woman but I have my doubts._

My eyes darted out of the booth, scanning across the ward.  _Lisa – _

_No one's ever kept me going till __four a.m.__ before.  I'm impressed._

Every reproach that had been on the tip of my tongue was quickly, unintentionally, swallowed... and I actually felt myself blush.  _Who kept _who_ going?_ I reminded her roguishly.

_Well, well, well, _she drawled.  _I think we might just need a rematch to settle this, what do you think?_

_After we practically ran over John on our way back up here this morning?  Are you crazy?_

_Of course not, I'm just here for the free food._

_Lisa – _

_Suit yourself.  _Click.

I scrambled out of my booth and she was already sauntering down the hall in the opposite direction.  I sprinted a few steps, caught her arm, and opened my mouth - I'm assuming, to speak.

She spun around with a devilish grin already dancing across that unforgettable mouth.  _I'll see you tonight._

One long, teasing finger traced my lips for an instant – and then she was gone.

She was crazy, yes.

But I was the one who followed her out of the phone booth.


	5. Chapter 5: Lisa

I kick Georgina out of the room when I get back from my checkup and she goes, of course.  Sweet little Georgina, who's got to invent her own reality to stay alive.  She's never been able to face up to me for more than half a second.

Not a bad lay, though.  She's a little different in the dark.

But I don't give a shit about her today.  I'm a little pissed at how fucking fascinated I am by this Kaysen girl.  Probably just the thrill of the chase, right?  She's one of four girls on this ward I haven't fucked, and the only one who isn't catatonic, covered with third-degree burns, or stinking of fucking rotting chicken.  Face it, fresh meat's fresh meat.  And she's fresher than most.

So that's the project for tonight.  Get those doe eyes to go wide and desperate.  Maybe a little alive, although I've kind of given up on finding anyone else who's actually alive in this shithole of a world.  There's a spark in her somewhere, I think.  Makes her more interesting than most.

She doesn't know what the hell to do, though.  Look at her fidgeting, not sure whether to stand or sit.  Oh, there she goes, twitching one of those French cigarettes out of the fancy little case over there.  Smart move – it'll give her something to do with her hands, and she looks damn sexy when she smokes.  But it's best to set the tone for this one right off, so I flick open my lighter before she knows it's out and light it myself.  I keep the flame from the chintzy little Bic between us for a long moment before I snap it shut again.

"Mind if I –" Not waiting to finish the sentence, since I really don't want an answer, I take the cigarette from her and take a long drag.  Keep it just long enough, inhaling and puffing, that she's wondering if I'm going to smoke it down all the way – then I flick it back at her.  A few ashes fall on the carpet.

Her eyes haven't left mine though.

Her voice, when she speaks, is raspy.  "What – what are you doing here?"

This part is always the most fun.  "What does it look like I'm doing here, sweetpea?"  I slide one of her cigarettes out and light it, quick this time. 

"Smoking my cigarettes."

"Well… yes."  Draw the s out just a bit, till it sounds like the smoke curling lazily through the air.

"Is that all?  You wanted some cigarettes?"

Enough of this shit.  I sprawl out on the bed, one fast big move that makes her jump.  "Nah.  Figured I'd get to know the neighbors, welcome you to the community, there's a great game of bridge every Tuesday night, you play?"

That gets a laugh, but just the right kind of one, a little uncertain half-giggle that tells me one basic thing: she's intimidated. 

"Don't be scared, hon.  I'm not here to hurt you."

"Then what _are _you here for?" She's straining, but she's also got more spirit than anyone on this ward except Daisy and Janet.  With the added bonus of being a lot hotter than either of them.

"Truth is –"  I take it back.  _This _is the best part.  "Truth is, Susanna, I like you."  Notice how she doesn't relax at all at that statement.  Perfect.  "And I'm interested in –" –lick the lips, keep it slow, there –"getting to know you better."

"What…"

A line from Mr. Rogers pops into my head, and I start singing, purely to keep her off balance.  "Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…"

"_What?"_

"Getting to liiike you, getting to hope you like me…"

"Lisa –"

I can hear the nurse coming down the hall on checks.  I time it – six, five, four steps from the door – and lean in. 

"Li—!!"

It's a perfect kiss.  She's not too surprised to kiss back.  And there's just enough time to leave her wanting more, as I pull back and the nurse comes in.

"Checks.  Oh, Susanna, you're making friends."

She stares mutely.  There's a hint of that desperation I wanted to see in her eyes.

I want more.

I wait till the nurse leaves, then put my finger over her lips to stifle everything that's about to come babbling out.  "Tongue your meds tonight.  McWeeney's off duty at eleven thirty and it's just the security guard 'til twelve-ten.  I gave him a blow job two nights ago.  Tell him you're meeting me, he'll let you go."

"What—"

"Room 1210.  See you then, babe."

And… exit.

I can still feel her eyes burning questions into my back.


	6. Chapter 6: Susanna

I sat through four more rounds of checks without moving a muscle, save for the faint, unsettled sensation in my stomach when I flashed back to that ridiculous, uncouth and completely one-sided kiss.  My notebook stared at me from across the room, snidely, begging for me to prove through my pen that what this room had just witnessed wasn't its imagination, or mine.  But this wasn't the time to write – what would I say?  'A complete psycho is trying to seduce me.  Help.'  It sounded bad enough just put into words; I can't imagine what it would have looked like on paper.  I already suspected Lisa read the notebook on a regular basis, and frankly I wasn't so sure she wouldn't take 'complete psycho' as a compliment.

I couldn't write.  It was almost time for meds; I couldn't stay here. But I couldn't go _out_ there, into the hall, into... _that_.  She could have _been_ there.  She could have been anywhere.

And, as I soon learned... she had.

It only took those twenty minutes for me to build up room 1210 as some sort of otherworldly S&M chamber, with cages and leather and chains and Lisa, right in the center of it all, with red horns and a pitchfork.  I did my best to get a laugh out of my outrageous projections, but the more I thought about it, the more it fit Lisa to a tee.  Never mind that we were in a mental institution and the closest thing to chains that she would have access to was a rolled-up pillowcase.

The only time I left my room all evening was for meds, which I dutifully tongued away and later slipped to Daisy for nothing in return.  My good deed for the day.  If I never came out of 1210 alive, I wanted to be remembered for something decent.

I had, of course, the option to simply not go.  And I considered the option fully.  Not fully enough to stop me, but fully enough for me to decide on the ground rules: I was only showing up to be polite.  I would clarify her intentions, decide they were completely unacceptable, inform her I wasn't interested in the least, and go back to my room.

Jesus fucking Christ.  Could I have possibly sounded more like a poster child for chastity?

It was eleven forty-two before I... realized it was eleven forty-two.  I scrambled off my bed, propelling the book I'd been reading halfway across the room, and began rummaging through my dresser until I realized what I was doing.

I was _changing_.

For Christ's sake, if I hadn't caught myself sooner I could have ended up dabbing on blush and mascara and popping a breath mint.  And so now, along with everything else, I'd humiliated myself.  Defiantly smoothing out my shirt – my original shirt – I stepped valiantly into the hallway.

Everyone was in bed – as any rational person would tend to do after curfew.  The only sign of life came from, as promised, the security guard, pacing back and forth at the far end of the hall.

I think it took me about ten minutes to actually _reach_ the end of the hall.  I turned back twice, and the third time I would have been walking backwards had I been going any slower.  He caught sight of me at about twenty feet, and came to a halt.

"Past curfew, miss."

I swallowed.  Breathe in, breathe out.  "I – I'm here to see Lisa Rowe."

Brilliant start, Susanna.  Yes, one moment, Dr. Rowe will be right with you – have a seat and fill out these forms while I alert her to your presence.

Instead, all I got was a slow, disconcerting grin.  "The new girl, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

He nodded at a room a few doors past him, and from a distance I could make out a faded '1' on the door.  Then a '2', then...

I walked on, feeling his eyes on me until the last second, until I raised my hand and tapped lightly on the door.

Nothing.

Again – this time a full, strong knock.

Nothing.

I tried the doorknob, and it was open.  I poked my head through and there she was.  Sprawled on the bed, backwards, head hanging over the edge, with a bowl of grapes resting on her stomach.  I watched as she tossed a grape into the air, following it with her eyes as it made its descent, and caught it with her tongue.  I remained unimpressed.

"I – I knocked."

"I know."  Grape Two – up, down, PLOP.

"Why didn't you answer?"

Up, down, plop.  "I was eating."  She spun around, somehow managing to sit up in the process, and set her grapes down on the nightstand.

And flashed me That Grin.

I noticed _she'_d changed – but I can't say it was much of an improvement.  Cutoff jean shorts and a tank top.  In the middle of October in New England.  ...And I was trying to rationalize Lisa, _why_?

"Have a seat, babe."

I looked around.  There was a chair – at least I assume it was a chair – there was so much crap and clothes and books on it, it was hard to tell.  And there was the bed, a tiny bed, which she seemed to be strategically monopolizing by sitting smack dab in the middle of it.

"...Where?"

She raised an eyebrow.  For a split second, that dizzy feeling in my stomach was back.

"Look," I sighed, ignoring it to the fullest.  "All I wanted to tell you was that... whatever you have in mind, I'm not interested."

She nodded thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in concentration.

"And – "  And?  There was an 'and'?  There hadn't been an 'and' when I'd practiced this, and honestly I wasn't sure why there was one now.  "And..."

Continuing to nod, therapist-style, reaching for a grape without ever breaking my gaze.

"And..."  For the first time, I actually looked around.  "What _is_ this?"

She plopped back against the bed, sprawling out and folding her arms behind her head.  "This, sweetpea, is my room."

"You get your own room?"

"No one else wants to share," she sighed pitifully, sinking down into her pillow.

I shot her a fleeting smile as I slowly made my way around the room, examining its contents.  "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you're lying."

"HA!"  She'd been waiting for it.  "Val won't let anyone in here unless they're staff.  I'm a baaaaad influence."

"Won't argue with that."

"Neither will anyone else but it never stopped them."

"Who?"

Another eyebrow, up – less questioning, more inviting.  I rolled my eyes.

"Right," I deadpanned, placing a bizarre necklace back on its shelf and turning to her.  "So, how many other girls on the ward have you screwed so far?"

"Just about everyone.  Why, Susie Q?  You want the dish on someone?  Gotta tell you, though, they aren't real dykes.  They just make an exception for me 'cause let's face it, what choice do they have?  But if you're looking for, y'know, a ballpark figure of my... personal record... I dunno, seventy percent?"

Dead, deafening silence.

I swallowed.  "I was kidding."

"Me too; it's more like eighty.  Didn't wanna scare you.  Y'know.  First time and all."

I couldn't help it – I laughed.  It wasn't a real laugh, to be fair, it was a stunned, shock-laugh mixed in with some variation of "WHAT?"

She winked.

"I – you – you actually think I – are you _insane_?"

"Word of advice, hon – that's not really a fair question on a psych ward."

I was genuinely laughing now – how could I not?  I would have pitied her if she'd let me, but see, that's the thing about Lisa.  She actually _decides_ how she'll allow someone to feel about her.  I didn't understand it, I don't to this day – but once she lets you figure that out – that she's in control – it's like you're bound to her, somehow.  She's magnetic, and if she lets you see it, really see it... then you're drawn to her, powerless, and there's no way to reverse it.

And the scariest part is, she knows it.

"Come on, sit," she demanded, scrunching up on one side of the bed.  "I'll give you a grape."

"I don't want a grape," I snapped, still curbing my laughter, and headed for the door.  "I'm going to bed, Lisa."

"Okay," she chirped.  "One more thing."

I turned around, one hand on the doorknob, and stared at the wall.  "I'm going to bed."

"If you can look at me when you say that, I'll leave you alone.  I swear.  Girl Scout's honor."  She somberly held up two fingers.

I hated her for making me laugh, I absolutely hated her.  "You were a GIRL SCOUT?"  The mental image alone was horrifying.

"You're STALLING!"

"Fine," I choked, wiping away any traces of amusement, and met her eyes.  "Lisa, I–"

She knew it.  Before I even started, she knew I wouldn't finish.  She knew it, and I knew it, and that was enough.

My hand fell from the doorknob, and she fell back on the bed.  "Come on over, have a grape."

I did.  I crossed the fucking room and sat down on the bed.  She grabbed her grapes and placed the bowl between us.  I reached for one, and she slapped my hand away.  Eloquent one that I was, I managed to drop my jaw and keep quiet.

"Relax," she instructed.  "You can't do it if you're tense."

I couldn't believe I was asking:  "Do... what?"

"Catch it.  Now, lie down.  No pillow; come on, scoot."  She yanked the pillow out from under my head until I was flat on the mattress.  "Now, keep your eyes on it the entire time – just like baseball.  Okay?"

I might have been stupid enough to answer if I wasn't erupting in giggles every time I remembered how nervous I was.

She tossed a grape up in the air, and it bounced off my nose.  The second one rolled off the bed; the third she decided to snatch for herself, and the fourth... fell down the front my shirt.

"Goddammit, it's cold!" I whimpered, groping at my tucked-in shirttails in the few seconds before my arms were suddenly pinned to my sides.

I looked up.  She was hovering over me; her hands had already released mine, but I didn't budge.  I stayed frozen, watching, allowing – somehow, allowing her to crawl over me, settling herself just below the top of my jeans, as her fingers expertly freed my shirt from its confines and slid it up my waist.  The grape emerged, rolling right onto her waiting tongue.

She let the tiny purple ball dance around in her mouth for a moment before biting down – languidly, deliberately – and swallowing.

I watched, still, as her concentration moved from the grape to the first – or last, depending on how you looked at it – button on my shirt.  Her eyes were on mine, never wavering, but she still opened all six buttons in what felt like a second.  I wasn't wearing a bra – I never did at night – but she wasn't quite there just yet.  She left the shirt as it was – prepped, closed, aching for completion – and turned her attention to the more challenging task of my jeans.

Same with those: unbutton, unzip, stop.  Face inches from mine.

Fuck this.

Slowly, I lifted myself up on my elbows and closed the space between us.


	7. Chapter 7: Lisa

Afterwards, and this is a surprise, she doesn't try to pull the cuddling thing.  Almost all of them, once the sex is done, they get this idea that I just turned into some kind of fucking teddy bear.  That's always a shitty situation, since it would probably work better to let them think they've got something more than sex going on for awhile; they get these wide-eyed ideas about love in their heads and it completely spoils a good fuck unless you play into them.  The trouble's just that I can't stand to stay still for one second after sex is over. 

But this time when I jump out of bed to grab some more cigarettes, Susie doesn't get that wounded look Georgina and MG and the rest of them always get.  She just stares, thinking whatever Susie thoughts run through her head when things get intense.  I'm almost tempted to ask her what she's thinking about.

But how stupid would that be?  I flick the lighter to the tip of the cig, take a long drag.  I glance over at Susanna, a little sharper this time.  All of a sudden I want to hit her, get that thoughtful look off her face.  What the fuck is she thinking about me?  What the fuck is she thinking?

I drop a few lit ashes on her arm, on purpose, and she flinches.  It's enough.

"Sooooooo…"  Deliberately casual.  "So why don't you call that loser boyfriend tomorrow morning and tell him you won't need him around here in the future?"

"Don't do that."  Her voice is surprisingly strong.  Weird.  Usually they get totally tame after sex.

"What?"

"Burn me.  What the fuck was that for?"

I blow smoke out my nose.  "Accident, Suzy-Q.  You going to call Frat Boy tomorrow and dump him?"

"He writes poetry. He's not a frat boy."

"What the fuck ever."  Jesus.  "What's gotten into you tonight?  Oh, that's right –" I slide a hand up in her, way up, enough to make her flinch and gasp simultaneously.  "I did."

Her eyes are wide again – wanting-more again.  I like it when she looks wanting-more.  The trick is to get them wanting just a bit more than you're going to give.  "Why am I doing this?" she mumbles, half to herself.

Christ.  I start rotating my hand inside her, finding the spot that makes her gasp, knuckling it hard.  Watching her eyes start to lose focus even as I answer her.  "It's for fun, baby.  Just some fun."

"You're crazy."  Talking to herself again.

I give an especially hard thrust.  "So're you, babe."  Her breathing's short again now.  In another few seconds, before she comes, I'm going to shove her head between my legs, and if she wants to get off she can fucking well do it herself while she eats me.

"You… don't care about me.  You're using me."

"And what's wrong with that?"  I whip my hand out, watching her eyes fly wide open in disbelief.  "Everyone fucking uses everybody in this world, sweetpea, so get used to it.  You think your poet boyfriend wasn't using you?  You think you weren't using him?  There's nothing else out there, babe, so wise up."  I give her shoulders a quick push and there she is, head between my legs.  She stares up at me for one second.  Our eyes meet for a long moment.

Then she bends her head and goes to it.  And that flash of understanding that passes between us in that moment is enough to get me to put my knee between her legs.  If she really wants to, she can use that to get off on.

Which she does.


	8. Chapter 8: Susanna

What a cliché it would be to say the next month was a blur, or a whirlwind, or something equally trite.  Because when I think about it, really, I realize it was anything but.  For the first time since I arrived at Claymoore, I didn't spend my days in a lost, empty, chronic blend of Melvin sessions and clock-watching in the TV room, curfews and cafeteria food and forced medication.

Seems ridiculous to think one little thing had altered every part of the experience.

Melvin became an exercise in self-control, namely when it came to cracking up in the middle of a session.  ("What do you do in your free time here, Susanna?"  Mental reply:  "Don't you mean 'who'?")  Clock-watching now counted down to eleven-thirty instead of dinner and bedtime, and even the TV room failed to dull my senses as it once had so successfully in the past.  I'd glance up from my notebook; all eyes would be on the television screen except hers.  Always on me – a wink, a gesture; sprawling out in the chair, legs spread, beckoning me with that Look until I turned back to my notebook just to keep from blushing.  Curfews were nonexistent to us, thanks to a little bit of strategy and a big reputation with a certain security guard.  Cafeteria food meant next to nothing as we'd both been eating something far more enjoyable of late; and meds branched off into their own tradition: fake-swallow for the nurse, head off to opposite ends of the room, shoot a glance in each other's direction, and stealthily drop them into our pockets.

I won't embellish; it was still a mental institution, and I still spent every day imprisoned behind its walls.  Nights were still nights, and nothing more – Lisa was still Lisa, and... maybe a little more.  I still watched the taunting matches between her and Daisy.  I still saw the tricks and manipulations she pitched at the staff.  I still sat through the intense flirtations with whatever living organism would give her a second look – and had just enough invested to recognize the twinge of jealousy.

She mystified me; not in that alluring, magnetic way (although there was still that, too).  It was so easy to write her off as the most shameless, outrageous, manipulative psychotic bitch you'd ever had the misfortune to cross paths with... but the more I watched her, the less crazy she appeared.  Maybe because I was fucking her.  Maybe because I couldn't take my eyes off her.  Maybe it just meant I was getting crazier myself.

But maybe not.

Maybe because she _wasn't_ spending every moment telling someone off, provoking, taunting, insulting, swearing.  Those unruly moments were easy to see, they're the ones shocking enough to mask all the rest.  But that's not what I saw.  I saw the times – rare though they were – when I could watch her sit and play a game of poker for two hours straight and not leave her chair.  The times when she'd sneak off to another ward for a bottle of nail polish, just to put a smile on the face of someone who'd been strapped to a bed for the past three days.  The times she'd sing – horribly, loudly, and off-key – to keep someone from crying.

And then, of course, there were the things no one else could possibly see no matter how hard they tried, and it was almost unfair, because they were what convinced me more than anything that Lisa was... more.  More than the seductive grin, the aggression, the passionate, misguided rage.  These were the things that only happened in her room after eleven-thirty.  Of course, maybe I was just idealizing.  It wasn't as though she had some sort of personality transplant the minute we dropped our clothes and hit the mattress.  It's not like she ever decked the bed in rose petals or read me ridiculous poetry.

She did sing for me once, though.  She stole the radio from the nurse's station, put on The Beatles, and pretended she had something resembling a voice.  She didn't.  I laughed until she started throwing pillows at me, and within minutes the room was covered in feathers.  We spent until two in the morning cleaning it up, dodging checks and stopping only once for... well, a brief recess.

And I still remember the first kiss that didn't lead to more than just that – a kiss.  In the middle of the usual climactic ecstasy, I'd managed to lose control enough to whack my head against the metal headboard.  She scrambled out from under the covers, doing a rotten job of keeping her amusement at bay, and dragged me to a seated position.  I bitched and I cursed and I whined, and her only reply was for me to shut up, sit still, and lean forward.  She grabbed a couple of ice cubes from our water glasses, wrapped them up in a shirt, and rested them lightly against the back of my head.  "You're a fucking idiot, Susie-Q," she told me.  I smiled to myself, out of view, and was just tired enough to drop my head on her shoulder.  And I'm positive at any other time she would have jumped away without a second thought and reached for a cigarette.  But she didn't, not now.  She held the makeshift ice pack and kept quiet.  "I didn't actually finish," I told her saucily, wondering if she could feel my smile against her shoulder, to which she replied "Tough shit, you clumsy bitch."  I let a tiny chuckle escape, before pulling myself up just enough to look at her.  She was smiling one of her interpretive smiles, this one explicitly stating, "You're so unbelievably stupid but for some reason I still like you."  I leaned forward and kissed her – soft, light... and she let me.

In terms of shock value, though, that hardly holds a candle to the night I woke up around quarter to one, realizing we'd fallen asleep by accident, to find the length of her body pressed against mine, head nestled in the crook of my neck, arm resting on my chest, sleeping soundly.  If she could have only seen how young, how vulnerable, how ridiculously submissive she looked right then... she probably would have murdered me.

It was hard, though.  Night and day were, indeed, night and day.  The rest of the time, outside the bedroom, we were just part of the ward again.  I saw her with everyone.  She was still Lisa, as much as ever.  I saw how she controlled them – not just the process, but the psychology behind it.  She did whatever she had to, which in some cases allowed for civility.  How was I supposed to know that that's not what I was?  An easy target; someone she didn't have to yell at or taunt or physically impair in order to get them under her spell?  What would happen if I ever resisted – if I ever changed?

At this point, I had none of the courage it would take to find out.  I was falling, hard and fast.  I wasn't sure into what – certainly not love or any of its subcategories – but something that brought me back to 1210, night after night.

Something more than that renowned magnetism.

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	9. Flashback: Jamie

_She was a __3 am__ patient but she didn't act like it.  In fact, she didn't act like much of anything. She'd been there for three days before anyone got a glimpse of her.  That was Lisa, of course.  Lisa was always the first to see any of the new patients.  She liked to be their first impression of the place._

_But Jamie managed to evade even Lisa for three days, and by a very simple means: she stayed in her room with the door closed and wouldn't answer to anybody.  The nurses doing checks had to come in and physically pull the covers back from her face to make sure the lump under the covers was her and that it was breathing.  A social worker came to her and on professional-looking triplicate forms jotted down professional-sounding notes meant to convey that Jamie wasn't talking.  Her psychotherapist took a nap during her session.  A nurse wheeled in meals on a cart and wheeled them back out untouched an hour later. Though there was talk of putting in an IV if she continued not to eat, the word anorexia never came up.  She wasn't refusing to eat, she was refusing to live._

_Among the patients the common consensus at first was that she was "just another catatonic," but that rumor was started by a resentful Lisa – what right did Jamie have to shut _her_ out?, and was untrue. Jamie wasn't catatonic.  She was thinking._

_Her eyes remained wide open whenever the nurses pulled the blanket back for checks.  Occasionally she responded to their questions with a small smile, perhaps a low-voiced "Thank you, I'm fine." In general, nurses reported silence but not vacancy.  "There's something _there_," one young aide reported, abandoning psychspeak in her frustration at her inability to save the world, to make this one girl talk.  Thoughts, questions, fears flitted behind those large gray eyes like small fish darting up to the surface._

_Fear: that was it._

_She cried out sometimes in her sleep, and her voice was young, like a ten year old girl's, though her admissions sheet pegged her for twenty-one.  Her fingers sometimes clasped the edges of the sheet convulsively.  Though she never talked to nurses, some of the kinder ones sensed that their presence was a comfort, and took a few minutes from their rounds of checks to stay at her side.  They were usually rewarded with one of her small smiles.  When they left, they never saw her scrunch her sheet up tighter than ever.  They never saw the lost look renew itself in her eyes._

_Three days into her stay, Lisa managed to buy her way into Jamie's room.  This had nothing to do with Jamie; the deal was transacted through a new, sympathetic night nurse and a seasoned male security guard.  The night nurse believed Lisa when she said she thought she might be able to help Jamie out of her shell.  The security guard believed Lisa when she said if he'd keep his nose out of it she'd reward him for it later._

_From behind cracked doors, the other patients watched her slip into Jamie's room with a mixture of respect, awe, and jealousy._

_Lisa was up and swinging the next morning, in full form: hips swinging with the good moods, arms swinging with the bad.  She was Lisa, and no one dared approach and ask how it had gone the night before with Jamie.  The only odd thing was that Lisa didn't tell them immediately. There were no details of the conquest.  They didn't get lurid details about how fucked-up the new girl was.  They didn't get stories of her past, predictions for her future.  They didn't get Lisa's customary confident one-word summary: "Boring," they might have expected, or "She won't last a week in this place," or a simple "I fucked her."  None of that.  No one knew what to make of it, but then no one ever really knew what to make of Lisa at all._

_But the truth was that behind the closed door of Jamie's room, Lisa had… relaxed.  There was no other word for it, and even that word seemed inadequate.  A rare, fleeting softness that could almost be called tender seemed to touch her, and when she sat on the bed opposite Jamie, looking quietly at her, there was no salacious licking of the lips, no seductive smoking.  She sat and stared at Jamie until Jamie shifted her gaze to stare back, and what she found in Lisa's eyes was not flirtation but open interest._

_ –-I'm Lisa, she said, without preamble._

_Jamie nodded and seemed to reflect for a minute.  –I'm Jamie, she said eventually._

_Lisa nodded back.  It seemed the one time in her life she was able to sit still._

_--Why are you here? Jamie asked eventually._

_There was some return of the old Lisa, the cocky Lisa.  –Why wouldn't I be? she asked, slightly saucy but still subdued._

_Jamie shook her head.  –Are you real?_

_Lisa stood up then, twirled a cigarette out of its box in an old, practiced gesture.  –Babe, she said, I'm the only real person you'll ever know._

_--And what is that supposed to mean?   Jamie was almost holding her breath._

_Lisa smiled slightly.  –It means, she said, flicking the lighter on, holding the flame to the end of the cigarette, that your life in this shithole just got a little more interesting._

_Jamie stared at her.  The gray eyes were surface-calm, but troubled deeper down. _

_--I've heard you in the halls, she said in a minute._

_Lisa leaned her elbows on her knees, took a long drag on the cigarette.  –Heard me what? she asked. _

_--Yelling.  Screaming.  Throwing things, sometimes._

_--So?_

_--So why aren't you screaming now?_

_--Because that's not what I want, Lisa said, and flicked her legs up, around, and under her on the bed in one movement. _

_--What _do_ you want?_

_The old Lisa's personality suddenly flooded the room, sexy and overwhelming, and Jamie seemed to shrink back a little on the bed from the force of it.  "Well," Lisa said, drawing out the l, making it long and slow and suggestive.  Then she left it at that._

_Jamie shook her head, as if to clear it.  –Why are you here?_

_--Because I read your file—_

_--You have access to my—_

_--and you remind me of someone._

_--Who—_

_--And besides, Lisa said, saucier than ever, --I'm the most important person for you to know here.  You'll figure that out soon enough._

_--What—_

_Lisa uncurled with the suddenness of a cobra rising for the strike.  Moving towards the door, she said "You're eating lunch with me tomorrow.  No more of this closed-door shit."_

_--You—_

_And she was gone._

_But next afternoon, Jamie ate lunch with Lisa._


	10. Chapter 9: Lisa

I'm starting to get sick of the way Susie's head works. Because that's the thing: it's always working . The girl never fucking stops thinking, not for a second. Well, that's not true, I can make her stop thinking, but only when I fuck her. The rest of the time, those little wheels just keep spinning round and round. Can't she see what a fucking waste it is? That's why she's in here. Why the fuck can't she just mellow out, let things go for awhile?  
  
Don't know why I give a shit. I'm getting what I want out of her. I've also been reading her diary, which is a good thing, since she doesn't tell me the fucking half of it. None of them do, of course; no one would ever dare tell Lisa Rowe what they really thought of her. You have to steal your file if you want to get at the information; it's the way the game's played. The only difference between Susie and most of the chicks around here is that she's a little smarter than most of them. She thinks she's smarter than she is, though. She thinks, when she writes all that shit about the "silvery magnetism that can only be the mark of the criminally insane," or how "Lisa, who seems to have more control than any of the patients here, is really more lost than any of the rest of us" – she thinks she's getting these tremendous insights, see, that she's seeing straight into my soul, things no one else could ever see. She never gets that it's fucking bullshit, that she sees exactly what I want her to see. If she thinks I'm lost, it's because acting a little scared sometimes is a good way to keep her watching – oh please Susanna help me, I just can't manage the scary psych ward without you. Jesus Christ, I've been here eight years, but I'm still playing these games with the newbies because they still buy them. Get a girl addicted, then make her feel important. It's the only way to keep them off guard.  
  
Yeah, so it annoys the living shit out of me that she's pulling this analysis crap, but whatever. Some people do, you know? People do what they fucking want to do. Daisy locks herself in her room with her fucking chicken and Polly acts the Pollyanna and Janet swallows water in the shower to bulk up before weigh-ins and who cares, really, who gives a shit? And Jocelyn carries around a baby doll and Susie writes, writes, writes. It's all the same thing, all the same goddamn bullshit. Just give it over, Susie baby, and put your hand right there like a good girl.   
  
They need me in this place. They need me because the shit they use to make them feel alive is also the shit that drives them crazy. If Susanna needs to figure me out and diagnose me in her notebook, who gives a flying fuck, man? She's still fucking me at night, which is all the proof I need that I've got her exactly where I want her.


End file.
